


Three Years, Two Months, and Seventeen Days

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Three years.Originally post by Jade Okelani, just for archiving.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Three Years, Two Months, and Seventeen Days

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Sarea, her big red pen, and her always amusing comments. And YES, the smut WAS NECESSARY!

Three years. Three long, long years and he still hadn't given the slightest indication that he even noticed she was a girl, let alone that he wanted to kiss her.

Honestly, Ginny had almost given up hope. At school, she'd thought Draco Malfoy was the most repulsive boy she had ever seen. He'd teased every member of her family mercilessly, tried to get Harry expelled countless times, and said the most awful things about Hermione's parentage. As a Slytherin, Draco had been rude, crude, and utterly repugnant. 

Though she didn't realize it at the time, all that started to change around his sixth year. Burgeoning manhood, she knew now, had given him a different perspective on the world at large -- on his world. What, exactly, was he to do with himself once he'd finished at Hogwarts? There weren't many positions for Professional Snot no matter who your father was. 

The war with Voldemort had grown in scope and everyone felt constantly threatened, with the exception of children who had Death Eaters for parents. Children like Draco. At first, he ate it up with a spoon -- Draco Malfoy, who'd always felt an intense amount of superiority toward his fellow students, was really, truly, finally and at last genuinely superior. He had nothing to fear from the oppressive cloud of terror that bore Voldemort's name -- and yet, when he should have been most satisfied, he felt mostly confusion and an underlying sense of dread.

It was no secret that Draco was Professor Snape's favorite student from Draco's very first year. Snape saw something in the boy no one else saw, and fueled by their mutual animosity for Harry Potter, a bond grew steadily until Snape became one of the very few people (all right, he admitted much later, the only person) Draco respected. 

When it was discovered that Snape had been a double agent, working for Dumbledore in the headmaster's efforts to ferret out Voldemort's plans, Draco had been shocked. He'd felt betrayed and proud all at once, and it had shaken his already tenuous grip on his own identity and turned his world upside down. He respected Snape; he trusted him, if not implicitly, then at least to be as cunning and resourceful as any true Slytherin. If Snape had risked his life to go against Voldemort, to align himself with Dumbledore and Harry and the lot of them, there had to be logic behind it. What if, Draco had began to reason, the side his father had taught him to respect and follow was not the winning side, after all?

Snape, injured and confined to the hospital wing at Hogwarts, had refused any visitors until Draco showed up one cloudy afternoon. Draco was wary but desperately hoping Snape might be able to put an end to the damnable confusion he'd been consumed with. 

"To choose evil," Draco told her Snape had said to him, "to make it a blind choice is not only foolish, it is the mark of something lower than a Muggle. If you're going to pick a side, Mr. Malfoy, make for certain it is your side and not something you do to avoid a confrontation with your father." 

That had been the end of Draco, the Malcontent Bully. 

Draco cleaned up nicely. He stopped making snide remarks to Ron, Hermione, and Harry in the halls (well, he stopped making snide remarks to Harry and Hermione in the halls), got rid of his best-friends-cum-bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle (who left school soon after to "join their parents on a family excursion"), and stopped torturing the beasts in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. 

Ginny didn't notice, of course. So long as he wasn't outwardly torturing anyone, Draco Malfoy scored pretty low on her radar. Everyone, it seemed, was fairly low on Ginny's radar -- everyone except a certain former Seeker for Gryffindor. 

It wasn't until the day he married Hermione Granger that Ginny finally decided that perhaps Harry Potter simply wasn't going to declare his undying devotion to her any time soon and she ought to look elsewhere for a prospective boyfriend. 

No one really knew what, exactly, Harry did for a living; something mysterious that was arranged through Ginny's father (who'd developed the annoying habit of not telling his daughter any of his secrets), Professor Dumbledore, and Sirius Black. Ginny was certain Harry had figured out how to turn being The Boy Who Lived into a gainful profession. As long as he kept from falling into the trap Gilderoy Lockhart had, Ginny was fine with it. However, as soon as he published a book entitled Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived to Defeat A Mad Evil Wizard and Other Exploits, she was going to help Hermione kick his arse. 

Ginny's position with the Ministry had been her father's doing, but she soon proved herself worthy of the job. It was nothing too exciting -- she was in the research department, but she was damn good at her job. She worked with Hermione (though Hermione had taken an extended leave of absence after she'd given birth to her first child), and the two of them often got lost for hours in the old books someone Very Important from the top floor requested they pore through. 

Unlike Hermione, who could look through books all day then go home for a relaxing evening of reading, Ginny tended to shy away from parchment of any kind in her off hours. During the day, when things got slow, she would read trashy romance novels (and sometimes books that appeared on the Witch Weekly Must Read bulletin), but mostly, she delighted in the solitude her position allowed her. Growing up in a house full of loud, older siblings had taught Ginny the value of silence and being alone in a large room filled with nothing but books that didn't scream or speak (unless asked to do so) or demand their turn in the bathroom was her idea of heaven.

Occasionally, Seamus Finnigan poked around, asked her to lunch, teased her the way Ron would have if he wasn't living the high life playing for the Ireland Quidditch team. Two doors down, in the Department of Budget and Expenses, Blaise Zabini proved herself to be a (surprisingly) delightful companion. A bit too catty at times for Ginny's tastes, but always entertaining, especially now that Hermione wasn't around much. 

Then, one day, she heard that they were sending someone down; an Auror. He needed to oversee a rather large research project dealing with the Very Important Top Secret books that were locked in a chest that technically existed in the same room Ginny worked in, but in a different dimension. The chest opened with a key that only the Minister of Magic had. 

Imagine her surprise when the Auror that came down was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Hullo, Weasley," he said pleasantly enough. "Remember me?" 

A scowl had been the only response she could muster, and he didn't seem too surprised to see it. With a shrug he got right down to business. 

He had the key. He smirked as he did an incantation that summoned the chest forth. Once he'd opened it, he began pulling books out; and pulling books out; and pulling still more books out. The thing seemed to have no bottom, and after awhile, even Draco started looking at it with an irritated expression on his face. Ginny waved him away and began unloading it herself; and unloading it; and unloading it. 

They had to take a break. Draco offered to treat her to lunch and she warily accepted. A free lunch, after all, was the least she deserved considering the next few weeks of her life would be hell on earth. 

Draco was astonishingly pleasant during their meal. He talked of the time he'd spent with the Ministry ("I started working almost as soon as I'd graduated, though not immediately for the Ministry; after the little, erm, stunt I pulled during my seventh year, Father wasn't too keen on letting me hang round the house."); detailed his experience working with dragons in Romania ("Turns out I know your brother, Charlie, fairly well, Weasley; good bloke, even let me near his favorite dragon once.") and generally worked his way around to a chance meeting with Harry in Paris. Harry and Hermione had been on their honeymoon and, Draco noted with humor, it had been an unpleasant shock to encounter a former nemesis in the midst of it.

  
The three had parted on civil terms, and a month later, Draco received an owl asking him to accept a low-level position with the Ministry. One, he had been assured, that would have nothing to do with his father.

This Malfoy was like night and day with the one she'd barely known at school. They looked the same, Ginny conceded, all pale hair and paler skin, gray eyes seeming to know more than they possibly could or should. His face was the same shape; too long, really, to be attractive, his nose too pointed, and yet -- she thought him almost beautiful.

There was a screeching sound in her head as she threw up her mental emergency break; that train of thought was going nowhere she cared to go.

They finished their meal (which was quite delicious and not the least bit inexpensive) and headed back down to the Chest of Never Ending Books. As it turned out, there was an end to it, and one thousand two hundred and seventy-three books later, Draco and Ginny sat on the floor, dazedly looking around at the books stacked floor to ceiling around them. A quick owl to Draco's superiors confirmed that, yes, they were expected to go through each book and organize, categorize, and easily reference them. They were being declassified, apparently; relics of a nearly forgotten war the Ministry wished to put in the past.

"Who did you hack off to get stuck with this job, Malfoy?" Ginny wondered as she stared around her in horror; a few weeks of hell had been an incredibly optimistic assessment. Given the obsessive degree to which Ministry books were required to be documented and filed, the job around them could take years. 

"Ah, Weasley, I think the real question is, who didn't I hack off to get stuck with this job?" He cast a sly look at her. "Or maybe the real question is -- who did you hack off?"

"Me?" She snorted. "I'm just lucky."

She hadn't known then that the comment wasn't at all sarcastic.

And, as it turned out, the job did take years; three of them.

~

It was twelve twenty-four a.m. when he finally kissed her. Three years, two months, and -- if she was thinking coherently, which she somewhat doubted -- seventeen days after he eased into her life with the effortless slide of butter on a hot pan. They were standing outside the Ministry and she had just looked at her watch, wondering if it was a bad idea to eat after midnight. It was pouring down rain and she'd been half-contemplating conjuring up an umbrella when he grabbed her elbow, turned her toward him, and kissed her.

She'd thought about kissing him hundreds of times. Over the years they'd grown incredibly close in the small basement room they sorted and filed in. Ginny did most of the sorting and filing, but Draco made up for it by buying lunch every day and rubbing her feet while she catalogued. Occasionally he would deign to read a book and write down the pertinent data in it, but he was so impossibly bad at recording all the significant facts, instead focusing on the inconsequential ones ("Draco, I promise you, no one at the Ministry is going to care that the book is an attractive green shade.") that Ginny had to check over his work anyway, and listening to him whine simply wasn't worth it. 

After a long maternity leave, Hermione had decided not to come back at all. She and Harry were fine so far as money went (his mysterious occupation remained as elusively unclear to all who knew him) and she was loathe to leave her daughter. That left Ginny and Draco alone eight hours a day, and Ginny really started to wonder if Draco had perhaps slept with his boss' wife to be punished with such a ridiculous assignment. After the first week, she'd checked up on him and learned that Draco was one of their best Aurors. When she'd asked him, he'd muttered something about an accident, and only after they'd known each other for almost a year did he finally confess the terrible truth: while pursuing a suspected Voldemort supporter (even years later, they still existed, hiding within the system), he had inadvertently squashed the Minster of Magic's beloved cat, Merlin. Merlin had been seventeen at the time, and too old to move out of the way, but the Minister was livid and swore Draco would pay. 

And pay he did. Sometimes, Ginny thought he looked so bored she actually feared for his sanity. During especially distressing bouts of boredom, he would whip out his wand, conjure up a miniature band, and pull Ginny to her feet, forcing her to waltz with him even though she had been working. She put up a great fuss, but the truth was, those moments were the highlight of her day, and she began to get an illicit thrill out of being pressed against his body. During these impromptu dances, Draco would let his hands wander along her back, his fingers tangle loosely with hers, their cheeks pressed together until the feel of his five o'clock shadow drove her mad enough to pull away from him, babbling something about needing to finish with the book she was on before they left for the day.

In truth, she had spent the past three years falling in love with him. That was a fact she had denied vehemently until the second his lips at last covered hers. 

There were actually butterflies loose in her stomach, and the bottom dropped out of her world as he wound his hands through her hair and held her head still while he made desperate passes at her mouth. A cry left her mouth and he took it for a negative reaction, because his hold loosened and he pulled back, his eyes tightly shut, his fingers only lightly tangled in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she watched him try to get his breathing under control. "I didn't mean -- I just couldn't take it another second. It's all your fault, you know, being the way you are--"

A smile curved her mouth as he abruptly cut off what he was saying. Feeling brazen, she moved toward him until her breasts pressed against his chest. Going past brazen and sliding right into wanton, she let her tongue dart out and lick a drop of rain from his upper lip. His eyes snapped open and bore into hers. They were both breathing heavily and getting soaked by the sky. His hair, normally so impeccable, was falling over his forehead in a wet tangle. Then she forgot what he looked like, forgot that her socks were getting wet, forgot everything because he was kissing her desperately again, his hands leaving her hair to roam endlessly elsewhere.

He had her half undressed before they both came out of the daze they were in to realize they were still standing in front of the Ministry and that they were dangerously close to 'public indecency.' Draco also seemed to realize that, the little stunt with her tongue aside, Ginny hadn't actually given any indication his mauling her was entirely welcome. 

The first thought in her head was that they had to Apparate somewhere private, now, before she went insane. Then she remembered that the Ministry had put a ban on Apparating during the war due to so many dark wizards fleeing that way, and that anyone caught Apparating, anywhere, was immediately suspected of being a Death Eater and shipped off to Azkaban to await trial. Looking at the way water ran down Draco's throat to disappear beneath his cloak nearly made Ginny believe it might be worth it.

"My place is closest," she whispered when he opened his mouth to ask her if she was sure. 

Smiling (not smirking, she realized much, much later -- honestly, she was sure that she'd cheerfully leap off a ledge if he smiled when he asked her to do it), Draco took a half step back to look at her better.

"You don't even know where I live, Gin. How can you be so sure? Besides, at least I know there's food at my place so we can have a proper breakfast." 

Two could play that game.

"Yes, but at my place, I'm sure the sheets are clean." She grinned. "And I'm hungry now. We're going to have to stop for something on the way." 

He blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

~

"I can't believe you're eating," he said for the fifth time as they sat on the floor of her apartment.

"I can't believe you think I haven't noticed you stealing half my chips." She grinned impishly and extended her plate to him. "Fish?"

He silently took the offer and popped a piece of fried fish into his mouth. They'd both foregone dinner in the effort to pile through two more books; they were less than a hundred from the end and both felt eager to have it over and done with. 

"So why now?" Ginny wiped her hand on a napkin and took a drink from her cup of hot cocoa. "Was it the rain? Because it rained last Thursday and I didn't get so much as a peck on the cheek." 

Draco was silent, and she smiled a little.

"I know," she continued, "it must have been my new red coat. It's furry and you can't resist the little bits of fringe."

Snorting, Draco shook his head. "It wasn't the coat." 

Ginny frowned. "You don't like the coat, then?" 

"Are you finished eating?" Draco groused.

"Just," Ginny said. "Why?"

Instead of answering her, Draco pushed her plate aside and crawled over to her. Ginny was a little surprised by the move, but adapted well, parting her legs as he slid between them and propelled her back against the carpet. Her hair was still wet and he ran his fingers through it, untangling the thick red strands. Her blouse was also sopping and he began to unbutton it.

"Don't want you to catch cold," he murmured as he started on her skirt as well.

"No," she agreed gravely, "we can't have that." 

Soon, she was down to her bra, knickers, and a pair of green and red plaid socks. All cotton. 

"Sexy," he growled with a grin, and she blushed deeply and tried to hide her face. He was on her again, though, urging her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger, and then he was kissing her.

Worrying for his warmth, Ginny felt it was only right of her to get him out of his wet things as well, and after a bit of giggling and struggling, divested him of his shirt and pants. 

Once they settled down from a fit of giggles, they lay side by side on the floor, one of her legs thrown over his hip, the other scissored with his. His hand kept making passes at the clasp on her bra, toying with it, before tracing the curve of her spine, and she sighed against his mouth every time. She'd never kissed or been kissed quite like this before. It wasn't that he was particularly skilled (though he was), or that he was handsomer than the men she saw every day (though she thought he was), but rather, it was the combination of the two together that shot off fireworks beneath her skin. She tilted her head this way, and he seemed to know just what she was doing and compensated for it. When she thought, God, I want him to grab my arse, he moved to palm her backside almost immediately. 

They were frantic for each other, pressed as close as they could possibly get, yet it felt like they had all the time in the world. Part of her wanted to stay this way forever, touching and kissing and being so damn close to each other, while another, stronger part of her wanted more.

"Draco," she whispered, and her voice sounded needy even to her own ears. 

"I like my name when you say it," he murmured into her ear. He undid her bra one-handed.

She smiled. "Clever."

"I have my little tricks," he said modestly. 

Next went her knickers, then his, and she was mortified to realize that she was still wearing her plaid socks. Draco briefly parted from her and took them off one by one, sparing a few precious seconds to kiss the tips of her toes before returning to her arms again. Full skin on skin contact was better than she could have imagined, and she moaned as his fingers slid down her abdomen to dip between her legs and caress her.

His mouth took generous tastes of her collarbone and arms, leaving a few moments to suckle her fingers into his mouth. Her breasts seemed to fascinate him endlessly, and while they'd always been on the small side as far as she was concerned, she was pleased to note that he seemed to enjoy them well enough. 

Foreplay, something she hadn't been able to get enough of in the past, soon became something she didn't think she could tolerate for another second. She'd never wanted anyone for as long, or in the way she wanted Draco, and she felt that, if she didn't have him, completely have him, in the next few moments, she would die. It was overly dramatic, but Ginny didn't question the feeling -- instead, she grabbed his shoulders, hauled his mouth away from her breasts, and rolled him onto his back. Straddling his waist, she let the nail on her index finger trace his mouth slowly.

"Why?" she asked again softly, her hair falling around her face as she looked down at him. 

A half smile was her answer, and he lifted her hips up and set her down on top of his cock. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, then moaned as he did it again, slower this time. A few more thrusts and he made a frustrated sound. Reversing their positions, he bent her legs back until her ankles nearly rested on his shoulders and sank into her, deeper this time, causing them both to moan. His mouth skimmed hers and she whimpered a little, trying to prolong contact. He waited until she opened her eyes and stared into his cloudy gray ones.

"It wasn't because of the rain, either," he said in between labored breaths. One of his hands palmed a breast, and she forgot everything but the rhythm they set between them and the way the rain beat against the window outside.

~

"It's because you do all the work and yet still have the patience to indulge my fits of immense boredom." 

He woke her with a kiss to the back of her neck. They'd slept on the floor, the blanket from the sofa (complete with warmth-enhancing charm) keeping them toasty all night. His arm rested comfortably around her waist and his fingers lightly stroked her lower abdomen. 

Ginny was startled for all of five seconds at the unusual presence of another person beside her, but it faded away when the whole of the past night came back to her in a rush. Total recall and she felt the first kiss, the first caress, all the things he'd whispered into her ear as he made love to her the first time, the second, the third. He'd been inexhaustible, and as many times as he pleased her, she could never quite manage to feel sated. She'd fallen asleep wanting, needing more of him, but sheer exhaustion had forced her to be still. 

They'd both slept soundly through the rain, waking only when a beam of light from the window signaled a sunny day as well as an end to the storm. Draco's mouth had gone exploring again, dipping beneath the cover to trace the straight line of her spinal column, dipping lower until he nipped at the curve of her buttocks.

Yelping, Ginny reached a hand around to pull him up, but soon found that hand pinned to the ground as he hauled her legs over his shoulders and buried his head between them. Any protests she had been about to make died on a newly born moan. Her hand wrest itself from his grip and she buried her fingers in his hair, her head falling back against the carpet as she lost all strength to hold it aloft.

The blanket was a thing of the past and she hoped none of the neighbors in the apartments across were watching the spectacle she no doubt made of herself; if they were, they would see a wanton woman arching her back from the floor, begging for more of what her lover was only too willing to provide. Ginny's hair fell around her face in a tangle, and Draco's blond head was in turns lazy and furious as his tongue and teeth caressed, aroused, and nibbled.

A few minutes were all it took, and Ginny let out a few sharp cries as she sank her nails into his scalp. It was as though her body had been in a state of perpetual arousal for three years now, and all she required was a firm shove over the edge. His mouth didn't leave her immediately, but continued to lap at her gently as she fell back against the ground, boneless.

"It's because you curl your toes up when I rub your feet, like you've never imagined such decadency in your life and can't help but dread its eventual end."

Her boneless state didn't last for long; in short order he had her on her back, opening for him and he was thrusting again, mouth fastened to the side of her neck (I'll have to wear turtlenecks for a week, at least, she thought dazedly), and she wasn't even fully awake yet, but she was fully alive and someone really should have told her this was what sex was supposed to feel like because she'd obviously been doing it wrong all these years.

His arms were strong, toned but not ripped, as Blaise liked to call the specimens she found most impressive. On the rare occasions Ginny had felt Seamus' biceps (and not like that -- he was a gentleman, always offering his arm when they crossed the street) she had been slightly put off by how -- beefy -- they were. It was almost as though Seamus weren't a real person at all, but a character from one of the trashy romance novels Ginny liked to indulge in, the hero of A Witch By Any Other Name come to life. 

Draco, though -- Draco was real. He was solid and warm against her, his arms that supported his weight above her, tolerated her nails digging into them with every other thrust, were strong in a way that grounded and comforted her, would hold her whenever she needed it and not just when she fell asleep reading late at night.

Sometimes during the day she caught him staring off at nothing, and in his eyes she saw terrible anger and terrible sadness. Those moments were the closest he ever came to scaring her because she nearly didn't recognize him. It made her wonder what sorts of things he'd done for the Ministry over the years and how awful it was for him when (if?) he visited home. Of all the things they'd discussed over the years, the relationship he shared (or rather, didn't share) with his father was not one of them. 

Ginny had the most terrible habit of letting her thoughts wander freely during sex; the rhythm of it soothed her, and with Draco, it seemed to be doubly so. He'd seen to her satisfaction and now she was luxuriating in the bliss of being so close to him, enjoying the freedom it gave her thoughts. She could think without tripping over her own scattered thoughts because most of her brain was busy concentrating on how beautifully their bodies fit together. 

He gave a desperate groan, his hips stilling, then pumping sharply against hers, and she stroked his hair as he let his face rest against her breast. They both drifted back to sleep, silently giving thanks for today being a Saturday. 

"It's because you always go on about how thick I must be to have gotten demoted on account of a dead ancient cat and you never really mean a word of it, because I can tell, Ginny Weasley, that you're so damn glad I killed that cat and ended up cooped up with you ten hours a day." 

"Well, you are," she said as he massaged shampoo into her scalp in the shower much, much later that day. "Admit it, Malfoy, you love seeing my face Monday through Friday." 

"I admit it," he grumbled. "Happy?"

"Far from it," she said. "I still don't understand why you picked yesterday to kiss me. Yes, yes, you can stop with the sighing, I realize you've found me attractive and adorable and irresistible for some time now. I just can't understand what it was about last night that was so bloody special-- Bllgrrglaahah!"

"Maybe that'll shut your gob for a second," he noted as he replaced the hand held showerhead back on its base and began lathering his hands with conditioner. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes. It's because I like the way you dance, Weasley; I like the way you never take any of my shite seriously, and I like the way you seem to really care about the people around you; even me.

"It's because you're unlike anyone I've ever known and because the very first time I walked into your little dungeon of books my heart started beating faster and I thought, ‘Oh fuck me, I'm in trouble.’" His hands were moving through her hair slowly, their hypnotic rhythm and the words he was rumbling near her ear keeping her silent.

"And if you insist on knowing -- which I must say is quite noddy of you, as it takes all the mystery out of our relationship -- last night I realized that in fairly short order -- and do be quiet, I realize that a few months is a long time, but not when I feel like the last three years has barely been a blink -- I realized that I was fast running out of the excuse to see you and touch you and talk to you Monday through Friday, and all I really wanted was to be able to see you and touch you and talk to you any damn day I wanted, sod the excuses."

He rinsed her hair again, showing quite a bit more consideration for keeping water out of her face than he had before. Turning her around, he pressed her back against the tile wall and loomed over her, a delightfully lascivious grin on his face.

"In short, I'd gone three years not kissing you and it was as though last night I finally realized that it had been three years and what kind of an idiot prat was I?"

"The biggest," she whispered as she thread her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers for a kiss.

"Bloody nice to know what you really think of me," he mumbled against her mouth.

She let him hoist her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, the hot water cascading over their bodies making the journey slippery and difficult; they just managed it.

"It's okay," she panted as he slid inside her again (she'd lost count of how many times at this point), "we've got loads of time for you to make it up to me."

~

END 


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